Sansa Stark: Queen in The North
by JustAMessyHairedGirl
Summary: A fic about Sansa Stark coming into her own as a powerful female, forming unusual alliances to try and reclaim the North and also an unexpected romance.
1. Chapter 1

Jon Snow

For the longest time there was the cold, everywhere, eating into his lungs and plucking at his brain. But then he started to feel it, at first a soft thrumming from afar, a warm breeze caressing a body he thought he had left behind. Then a sudden crack of heat, tearing his mind fully back. The flames scorched around him, he felt them peeling back his skin and melting his flesh, he smelt himself burning and he screamed, he screamed so loud the wall must have shaken with the sound of his pain. Then as soon as it had begun, it was over. The dark night sky stared down at him and a frigid breeze lashed against him as Jon slowly pulled himself up from the thick ashes. Melisandre stood before him, her fervent followers surrounding her with torches, the wildings and men of the nights watch further back, in the dark. They all watched him silently; the only sound in the world seemed to be the howling of a lone wolf. "HE IS REBORN!" Came the cry from somewhere in the mass, the chant was soon taken up. Melisandre smiled.

Sansa Stark

The Eyrie was dead silent at that time of the morning. Not that it got much louder during the day. But Alayne loved knowing she was the only one moving about, it made her feel peaceful. No pretending and no responsibilities. She knew it would not last. Her lord father would be calling on her soon to attend him and his banners as they discussed what to do with the rule of the Eeyrie due to the untimely demise of young Lord Robert. The course was one of his fits, it was said, but Alayne kept her own quiet doubts. She stopped by one of the large windows for a while, marvelling at how the snow just kept coming down relentlessly, the cold breeze pierced her thin gown, making her smile and think of home. No, no, not home. Alayne came not from the North. But Sansa did. She must not dwell on that, as Petyr so often reminded her. She pursed her lips as she headed back towards her bed chambers, Petyr treated her as though she was the dumb little bird she had always been but Alayne was learning, from Petyr and from a voice inside herself that she didn't know existed. The voice told her to let Petyr believe in her idiocy, let him think her weak and malleable, while behind closed doors she hatched her own plans.

Petyr Baelish

She swept into the room mere seconds after he sent a made to collect here. Petyr smiled to himself, ever the dutiful daughter. "Alayne, my dear, we have a moment or two before the pageantry arrive, come sit by me" He said. She glided across the room, her gown swishing against the hard floor and her rich brown hair glowing in the cool, morning light. "Father" She cooed, leaning down to peck his cheek. He caught her thin forearms in his hands tightly before she could pull back again. "A real kiss for your Lord Father." He murmured gutturally as he pulled her even closer to him. Her thin, hot lips pressed against his own and he felt his hear thundering as he prised them apart with his quick tongue. "Much better." He said ever so quietly, propelling her away before he lost control. Alayne stared back at him, her blue eyes wide open and her pale cheeks flushed pink, one of her hands crept up to fiddle with the locket about her neck. She enjoyed it, Petyr thought to himself as he tried to refocus on the papers in front of him and not the fact that Alayne's dress collar hung even lower than when she had first entered. He wondered, not for the first time, how he could keep this little bird for himself. The murmur of voices started to echo down to him, they were here. "Alayne, be ready with wine and water." He called over his shoulder as he pulled the heavy doors of the meeting room full open. They entered as a herd, braying at each other, barely looking at him as they poured into their, now customary seats. Petyr sat, fingers propped under his chin, once the silence had fallen he started to talk, it was time to do what he did best, pull himself to the top.

Sansa Stark

She watched him the whole time, every mannerism, every word that came out of those deceitful lips. The people surrounding him lapped it up eagerly, seeking his guidance and expertise. Alayne marvelled at their willingness to accept him just because Petyr said the right words and did the right things. She knew she had more to learn but she also knew her time was running out. Petyr had plans to marry her off and even if he didn't she knew he wanted her for himself, he would only hold himself back for so long and she could see he was slipping. That would help her, his desire, but there was a thin line she had to walk, temptation but no fulfilment. She would go to him tonight, begging him to let her remain by his side, to learn and feel safe, she would kiss him if she had to, though the thought sent repulsive shivers down her spine. He would let her stay with him, he was starting to love her and at the same time Alayne was wondering more and more how she ever trusted this man to get her home. I was naïve she thought crossly as she snapped back to her surroundings and filled all the cups with a smile. As she filled Petyr's she quietly asked for a reprieve from her task. He nodded absently and she hurried out of the room instantly, it was her only chance when Petyr could not possibly have interrupted. The rookery was dark even in the middle of the day; it stank of faeces and decay but still she heard the soft ruffling of wings. Alayne shoved open the small door to the chamber where a maester's assistant should have lived, it was freezing cold but there on a small wooden desk sat a thick piece of parchment and an old bottle of maester's ink. She grabbed a feather from the rookery, her letters were scratchy but legible and she wrote as quickly as she could. There was only one chance to get this right and if this fell into anyone else's hands Alayne and Sansa were both doomed. Her hands felt stripped raw after minutes but she had written for hours, forcing her thin scrawl across the page with grim determination. The sun had nearly set when the parchment was tied up with a piece of black string. Alayne knew not, the ways of the children of the forest but she could read and she had, reading book after book about them until she had found the spell, reciting it every night until it was part of her. She whispered to the crow as she tied the parchment to its thin ankle, repeating over and over where it should go. "Please." She whispered to the wind as it flew off into the deepening twilight.

She raced down the steps towards her chambers, pulling her hair from its tight plait as she went. She chose a tight, low cut silk dress; it shimmered as she moved a pale blue, pretty little thing that she would have admired once upon a time. Now it was a tool, one that showed off her slender frame and brought out her large eyes. She made these eyes well with tears as she headed to Petyr. He turned at her entrance and was transfixed. Everything she did was observed, from tucking her long hair behind her ears, to smoothing down the perfectly smooth dress. "My, don't you look beautiful." Petyr stated as his eyes roamed over. "Father I came here because I must talk with you, urgently! I know you intend to marry me to Harry the heir but I don't want him, I couldn't bear to be married to someone I don't love… again! Please father, I…" Her sob cut her off, they seemed so fake to her, surely he would see right through. But Petyr rose instantly. "Oh my sweet Alayne, hush darling, don't you still want to go home?" She nodded against his chest. "Well then you must listen to your father, let me help you. Besides whom else would you marry? There is no one else." He stated. She could feel his gaze on the crown of her head; she looked up, dreading the words that had to come off her tongue. "There is you."

Daenerys Targaryen

"Dark wings, dark words." Whispered Tyrion ominously from his perch atop a pile of feathered cushions. "You are my hand, not my entertainment." Retorted Dany with a chuckle, "Now read out these 'dark words' and we'll see if the saying is true." Tyrion smiled up at her as his other hand undid the cord tying the letter together. He could jest all he wanted, Dany had seen the worry on his face when it had become clear this was a Westerosi bird. "They shouldn't be able to survive this heat." She had heard Ser Barristan mutter when he thought she couldn't hear. It infuriated Dany that they continued to treat her like a child, she was the Dragon Queen, Mother of Dragons, Stormborn, was she really expected to be scared of one old crow? She returned her full attention to Tyrion. "Your Royal Highness Daenerys Targaryen, I write in the desperate hope that this missive will reach you and that if it does you will heed me. My name is Sa…" Tyrion faded off but his eyes continued to move quickly down the page, by the time he had read the full letter Tyrion's jaw hung slack and his eyes bulged. Dany wanted the letter now; if it could render him speechless she must read it once. She requested he past it to her but his eyes continued to stare blankly at the parchment. Dany pulled it from his hands; his head snapped up as she did so, his mismatched eyes had welled with tears. "Well I never." Was all he managed. Dany sat back on her bench, tucking her legs into her tokar. She read it even faster than Tyrion had, then five more times to make sure. Her hands quivered as she set the pages back down. "We have work to do." Dany said, to no one in particular, her voice was croaky and her eyes stung. She paced back and forth in her chambers, occasionally glancing out over Mereen. To leave this kingdom in complete upheaval would be cruel and unjust but she had another kingdom, one that was hers by right, one she desperately needed. The letter had come from one Sansa Stark, a girl Dany had never met but had classed as enemy on principle. Apparently Sansa had not done the same to her. She thought back over the letter, all the awful things that had befallen this girl, all the suffering and death, how alone she was, the man who now tried to control her. Dany could see so much of herself in Sansa, so much of the girl she had been and the woman she was forced to become. She found Tyrion drinking with some of the Brazen Beasts. "A word." She called, as the Beasts all kneeled. "Have you reached a decision?" Tyrion asked as he reached her and they turned toward the stairs. "I have." She said, watching his face carefully. "I want to help her and I want to crown her." Tyrion looked like he couldn't have been more surprised if his dead father had come in and handed him a rose while dancing the jig. "My lady, are you quite sure?" He asked looking up at her. Dany squatted so they were eye to eye "I have never been surer of anything."

Sansa Stark

She spent her days locked in the Eyrie, the peaceful silence now felt oppressive and every corner she turned found Petyr behind it, waiting to caress her and kiss her. She had forced herself to not shudder at his touch, even made herself smile when he whispered all the things he wished to do to her but no matter what she did she couldn't make herself enjoy him. Every touch felt like a burn on her skin, every kiss a knife in her gut. How could she be so scarred on the inside when on the outside her skin was flawless and her smile was firm? He thought she loved him, she told him she did as he told her the same but the truth was he was nothing to her, below even her contempt or hatred; he was just a nuisance to be put up with before her plan was fulfilled. She sometimes wondered if there would be a place for Petyr in her new world but then, Sansa thought, there is always a place for people like him. She was standing by her vanity, starting into her own cool eyes when the bird crashed into her room. A parchment was strapped to its leg; this was a rare and perfect opportunity. Before the bird could make much noise Sansa had pulled off the paper and throw it back through the window. It circled up and into the clouds quickly, she silently envied it as she unfolded the stiff paper. The letter may be nothing but then it could be useful, she had no idea what was happening in the outside world, Petyr kept everything from her. She couldn't believe what she was reading. Others at the wall being fought off by the nights watch, led by Jon, her Jon! And what was more they had aided Stannis in his war and his Red goddess had brought Jon back from the dead, in flames. They Night's Watch needed bodies, people to fortify the wall against the Others, they had already accepted Wildings but they still needed more. She knew the Others should scare her and the idea of Wildings helping the Watch should shock her but all she could focus on was that Jon was alive. She felt her throat clogging and her eyes burning at the thought that she wasn't alone. Jon was still alive, her bastard brother, she wished she could take that name-calling back now, now that he was all she had. Sansa had to contact him, had to share her plans and gain his support, she needed him. Her hand gripped the edge of the window sill tightly but then she heard the footsteps. The paper was safely hidden by the time Petyr pushed open her door. "Alayne." Was all he said as he swept in and pulled her into his embrace. She hugged him back stiffly, her mind ticking away even as he started to kiss her neck, then her shoulders. His thin fingers quickly unlaced the back of her dress and she stepped out of it without a word. He had never done this before, she thought dimly as she kept her thoughts on Jon. His dry hand caressing her bare breast was like a whip. "Wait!" She said pulling back and trying to get her thin undershirt to cover her. "No, I have waited for long enough." Petyr said in a deep voice, his eyes were glazed and he slowly ran his tongue over his lips. "Lift up your arms now, like a good girl." He whispered as he pulled her shift off and tossed it aside. Sansa did not try and cover herself, she watched as he dipped his head and felt his wet mouth on the flatness of her stomach. Then she was gone, away with Jon, rallying the Northern army, fighting all those who had wronged the Stark's, combining forces with Daenerys and returning her to her rightful throne, in thanks Sansa would be appointed queen of the North and be given her own dragon, there at Winterfell, she, Jon and their families would live and rule until the end of times, keeping the Seven Kingdoms safe from the Others. When she awoke from her fantasy Petyr lay beside her, his face red and sweating as he slept deeply, Sansa looked down at herself, finger marks bruised deeply in her arms and bite marks covered her thighs, her maidens blood pooled beneath her. She pulled herself up off the bed, her limbs stiff. So now I am a woman, she thought as she went to wash the brown dye from her hair.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon Targaryen

He woke with the taste of his new name on his tongue. A dragon, he thought dimly, a dragon and a wolf. Melisandre had come to him the morning after his resurrection. "You are our leader" She had murmured in her deep, warm voice. "You are the true king of The Seven Kingdoms. Jon Targaryen, son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. She died birthing you, but not before extracting a promise from your late uncle Eddard, to raise you as his own, protect you." Jon still shuddered at the words. He felt betrayed, ashamed but he understood. He knew know why his father, no his uncle, had refused to tell of his past, he had wanted to keep Jon safe. The thought cheered Jon slightly but his mind still strayed to the darkness of his childhood, raised a bastard, despised by Catelyn and his siblings, whichever ones were left were now only cousins. Jon sighed and pulled himself out of his small chambers, Ghost trailed along after him, head bowed low.

Daenerys Targaryen

"Ser Jorah!" She called as she hurried towards the pit; she heard the squeak of his boots on the tiled floor in response. They strode into the darkness of the pyramid as quickly as possible. Dany forced herself not to second guess, even though the whole plan felt rash and wild. No, I am a dragon, this plan is strong and we will win, she thought to herself. "My queen, the Lady Sansa will need more time to rouse the North. We need not head into battle just yet; wait another week or so to begin preparing… Please?" "NO!" Dany shouted, seeing him wince. "It will take us another two months at the least to arrive in Westeros, more than enough time to rally her troops." She shoved open the hot, reinforced doors that held her dragons once again. "My babies." She cooed, walking into the scorching den. "Time to learn to fight."

Petyr Baelish

He was drunk on Sansa, it was the only way he could describe it. She was all he wanted and needed. When she spoke his stomach dropped and all he wanted was to kiss her small, firm mouth. When she walked by him he could smell the scent of flowers in her hair and her eyes sparkled with hidden mirth as she wandered the lonely halls. He shook his head, don't be a fool, his mind scolded internally, she is a child, not near as beautiful as her mother and definitely not as smart. But another part of him, a larger part, warred against this. She is the most beautiful woman in Westeros, a child no longer, her hair is silk and her skin is porcelain but even that part of him conceded she was a foolish, naive thing. When he had felt her maidens blood pooling beneath him he had finally felt at peace, her face was pale but her eyes had sparkled and he had fallen asleep with a smile on his face. It was so hard pretending she was still Alayne when all he wanted was Sansa. He took her whenever he could, against walls, behind tapestries, whenever they could get a moment alone, she loved him, he could see it in her big, honest, blue eyes and maybe he loved her, he didn't care, either way she was his, forever.

Jon Targaryen

The letter was handed to him by one of the young wildling boys; a slip of a thing with only three teeth to his smile, Jon thanked him and sat down by the hearth to read. His mind was drifting to his men as he picked up the paper, he didn't think he could ever trust them again, not that he thought any would attempt to harm him, not after witnessing his rebirth. He only just noticed the seal of The Eyrie on the piece of parchment before cracking it open. He had heard that Littlefinger had weaselled his way into being protector of the vale, Jon frowned, wondering what that fool wanted. The letter was three lines long, scrawled but neat, as if the Maester was in a hurry. He scanned it quickly. _Jon, you probably think I am dead but I survived. I escaped the Lannisters and Kings Landing and I am so close to Winterfell and the North I can taste it. Please Jon; you are all I have left in this whole world, save me. _The parchment fluttered from his hand as he saw the signature that followed. "Sansa." The name came out of his throat in a croak and he noticed the tears running down his cheeks. He tried to understand, she is alive, she is alive, but how? He had given up the hope of any of his family being alive but here was Sansa, his little princess, trapped in The Eyrie, so close to home, so close to him. He readied his horse instantly and called Ghost to him, Melisandre watched but said nothing, she just nodded at him and that was all Jon needed. He rode off into the ever-thickening snow with a group of wildlings at his back, pushing the horses as hard as he could. I am coming Sansa. He thought as the Wall shrank behind him.

Sansa Stark

Every time he raped her she thought of Winterfell. She pictured the snow covering the battlements and her family racing around the courtyard, playing and laughing, only now she played with Jon, always the two of them, throwing snow balls, making snow men or just talking about their futures. Jon wanted to be a king and Sansa a queen, the pretended to rule The Seven Kingdoms together. But the fantasy didn't last. When Petyr finished in her Sansa would smile and hold him and say pretty words. He loved her; she could see it in those quick, brown eyes. The looked more like a puppy dogs now, than a rats. But Sansa didn't care, some people have to get hurt and he was one. She didn't dye her hair anymore. When it was required to be Alayne she covered it over but she refused to dye it and Petyr accented after her pleading with him and running her fingers across his chest. "I like you better red." He had whispered into the crook of her neck one night. Sansa had giggled and thanked him but inside she had shoved him away from her and pulled her soft her from his prying fingers. She noticed she didn't feel whole anymore. Every day more and more of Sansa slipped away, or the Sansa she had been. A new one was taking her place, strong and hard and cold as the North. She accepted than Jon might not come, the raven mightn't reach him, he might even ignore it and she made herself feel nothing at the thought of Jon not caring. But try as she might, the smallest part of Sansa still hoped that one day her black knight would sweep in and take her home but until that day, she would keep going, survive.

Petyr Baelish

He woke with a start, his senses screaming as he felt the cool blade biting ever so slightly into his throat. Sansa sat atop him, her long hair surrounding them like a red curtain. "What are you doing sweetling?" Petyr whispered, feeling the knife slip deeper. "Stop talking." Sansa answered quietly, her face as impassive and still as stone. "I have had enough of your talking. It is my turn now. I am done with you Petyr. You helped me for a while but you have far outlived your purpose. You saved me from the Red Keep and got me much closer to home and much faster than I could have alone. But you can't do anymore. You don't get to touch me anymore; you don't get to hurt me ever again." With those last words the blade cut ever deeper. "But… You love me? I saved you." Petyr said his voice barely audible. Sansa's laugh was cruel and sharp but her face still didn't move. "You loved me." She said mockingly and Petyr paled at the ugliness in her tone. "I never loved you and I never would have, no matter how many times you raped me! You are cancerous and vile and you are stupid. Oh yes Petyr, Littlefinger, the man with a plan, you are ever so stupid. I used you Petyr and you never even noticed because I was too young, too silly… You were wrong." She smiled as she sliced viciously into his neck, cutting from ear to ear. I was finally bested, he thought as his life's blood poured over his bed clothes.

Jon Targaryen

The few guardsmen had put up no resistance to the fierce wildings and the angry crow; they huddled into the courtyard and waited as the rest of the keep was seized. Jon was amazed, only five guards and one or two staff, it was a ghost castle and his heart hurt to think of Sansa stuck here, alone, for gods knows how long. He pictured her as he had last seen her, a vision, with long plaits and an innocent smile. Please be fine, he pleaded as he opened every door, screaming her name. He finally heard a response as he neared the large chambers where a Lord should have slept. The door was ajar and he instantly saw the blood pooling on the cold floor. "Sansa!" He cried, rushing into the room, sword drawn. "Jon." The faintest of whispers. He turned; she stood behind the door, her hair sticking to the blood of her small clothes, a wicked looking knife clutched in her hand. "My Gods, Sansa are you hurt? Are you alright? Oh Sansa." He ran towards her and scooped her up into his arms, she felt light as air and at first her arms hung limply and Jon thought he had done wrong. But then her small arms wrapped tightly around him and her legs followed, a sob wracked through her entire body and all Jon could do was hold her close.

Sansa Stark

He understood. She didn't need to say a word about Petyr or how he had treated her but Jon knew and he comforted her. At first Sansa had tried to stop the tears, but after being strong for so long, she finally felt safe enough to cry. He never pushed her but eventually Sansa told him all that had happened to her since Eddard's death. When she finally spoke of Petyr, Jon's eyes flashed with an inner fury and vengeance but Sansa had needed to kill Petyr, she had needed that for herself. The rode back to the Wall was cruel. Thrice they were snowed into whatever shelters they had found, horses died and food began to dwindle when they finally saw the wall again rising up in the distance. Every night Jon would come to Sansa, he told her of his own path and Sansa listened avidly, she loved the way his mouth moved as he talked and how he constantly checked her reactions, to see if she was shocked or upset. She enjoyed his company, more than she ever did as a child; she loved having a brother again. And this one had come for her, her half-brother, when her true brother never had. He gave her his share of meals, even as she watched his already slim frame diminish. "You mustn't." She had insisted one evening as he kissed her cheek and handed her his food. "But I must Sansa; I will not lose you now!" He had replied evenly. "Nor I you." She had promised back, tearing the tough horse meat in two and handing him the bigger half as she gazed up at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon Targaryen

The Wall loomed above them, ferocious and beautiful, just like the girl beside him, who stood staring up at it in complete awe. "It is truly magnificent" Sansa said finally and he smiled, resting his hand on her shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze. "Yes. It is." They walked deeper into the keep, crows, wildlings and Queen's men all acknowledging Jon with a small nod and Sansa with gaping mouths and assessing eyes. Ghost walked tight on Sansa's side, large head bobbing contently as she laced her fingers into his thick fur. He smiled, only Sansa could get away with treating Ghost like that. He barked out some orders, a room for Sansa near his quarters, the fire in his hearth lit and for the rotation of shifts for the men atop the wall, everyone needed to know the Lord Commander had returned. He watched Sansa with obvious fascination, wanting to see her reaction to every single thing. He led her to a small but warm room near the smithy, "You will be safe here and I will leave Ghost with you every night and a guard on the door." Jon said, propelling her into the room. "Thank you Jon. Thank y…" Her sentence was broken by sobs but he could see the smile that stretched across her face. He gave her one final small bow and left the room.

Sansa Stark

The room was the homiest she had been in, in years. The blankets were thick fur and every night Ghost would lie down beside her, just as Lady had a long time ago. Her days were spent writing in the maester's tower or walking atop the Wall. Originally Jon had denied her this, claiming it was too dangerous. Sansa had silenced him with the reasoning that it was just as dangerous for him up there and besides which he wasn't her father or husband, Jon had scowled but let her go. Ghost was always by her side, she found herself whispering to him, telling him all her secrets and all the feelings she kept bottled up, even her dreams, which she would admit to no one else, not even Jon because they made her seem just as foolish as she was before her father's death. Tonight she walked through the training grounds; it was completely empty and perfectly still, with all the men in the hall eating supper. She felt a soft lump hit her in the back, not hard enough to hurt but enough to surprise her, she shook her head and continued to walk when another hit her in the back of the head with a soft thud. She raised her hand and it came away from her hair covered in snow, snowballs, she thought, whirling around with a wide grin on her face. Jon stood a few metres away, staring at her and another snowball was in his hand, she laughed and bent down to make some herself. Their war was long and fun and childish and Sansa was the happiest she had been in years. Finally they collapsed side by side into the thick snow, looking up at the bright stars. "Aren't you afraid what your men will think?" She asked him quietly, turning slightly to see his face. Jon looked down at her, dark curls flopping into his eyes. "I wouldn't care if they took my role of Lord Commander; anything is worth seeing you smile like that again." She looked down, startled by the intensity of his eyes and the way they shone, almost purple in the pale light, she took his hand in her own and sighed.

Jon Targaryen

She sat beside him at supper, scooping the measly portion of "soup" that had been given her. Sansa made it look for all the world like it was the richest and most delicious soup in the seven kingdoms, eating it daintily and bestowing praise upon the cook. Jon snuck sideways glances at her constantly, trying hard to concentrate on his men and their talk. She noticed and her right hand slid onto his knee, patting it softly. It was all he could do to not take her hand in his and hold it tight but he refrained and turned his attention back to the table and the issue of how they would survive the entire winter. They walked out together, her arm looped loosely in his own. The snow was falling heavily and they ran back to his quarters, laughing as they stood under the small eave. "Would you come in...? We could talk?" Jon asked lamely, not wanting to say goodnight. She nodded and pushed the door open, stepping in before him and dropping her heavy cloak onto a bench. He pulled two chairs up to the intense fire the steward had prepared. "I still can't believe we are together again." Sansa said, barely above a whisper. "I feel the same." Jon replied, leaning toward her, he pushed a loose strand of hair back off her face then snatched his hand back, what was he doing? She smiled though, letting him know she liked it. "Sansa, I… I have something I must tell you." He started, watching the shadows of the fire dance across her face and a small crease appear between her eyes as she looked at him, nervous. "I was reborn." He started, then cursed himself, what was he saying, she would think him a madman! Sansa's mouth had dropped into a perfect 'o' but she did not speak, silently telling him to continue. "Before you wrote, the men here mutinied against me. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry about me! But I need to; I can't keep this from you any longer. Melisandre, she brought me back through the flames but I didn't burn." He watched every single reaction, even the tiny shift of her foot as he told her everything, he ended with the fact that he so desperately didn't want her to have to know but his honour forced him to say; "So I am now Jon Targaryen." She stood, silent and he craned his neck to look up into those sharp blue eyes. "Goodnight… My Prince." She whispered before sweeping out the door, taking Ghost and the warmth of her presence away. Jon wiped a single tear from his cheek as he drifted into a fitful sleep in the chair.

Sansa Stark

"Jon Targaryen. JON TARGARYEN. JoN TARgaryen." She whispered to herself in the quiet chamber, no matter how she said it, it wasn't right. Then she thought of how his eyes had looked like pools of deep purple and she sighed. My last brother, my only brother left, is now my cousin. She stifled a sob and curled even tighter into Ghost's side, all her family had left, in one way or another. Breakfast was cold bread and colder broth and she could barely force it down her parched throat. Jon stared at her from across the room; he had elected to sit with a table of wildlings rather than with her and that stung Sansa's weary heart even more. He told me as a way to show I am not his responsibility, that he doesn't need me, that I should leave, she thought as she watched him smile at something the large, bearded man to his right had said. I am not his sister, I am not his to protect and that's why he told me and why he leaves me alone now. She tried to ignore how hard these thoughts made her heart ache and how looking at him made her shiver, no food would be eaten. She pushed herself up and made for the door, Ghost trailing behind her, looking as dejected as she felt. His hand gripped her firmly through the many layers she wore. "Sansa, I can't bear this. Look at me!" His voice sounded angry and she whirled around ready to scream at him. What greeted her was a mirror, the sadness she knew was in her eyes lay deeply in his and worry was etched on his brow. "What do you mean you can't bear it!?" She hissed at him. "First you tell me that you are not even my brother! Then you leave me alone, like a pariah. Do you want me to leave Jon, is that why you told me; because I'm not your sister you don't want me! Is that it?" She shrieked, noticing just now that her fists had been hammering into his chest and hot tears slid down her hollow cheeks. "No! Gods, Sansa no… I love you and I will always want you. You hear me? I will always want you!" His voice wrapped around her and his arms followed, pulling her tight against him and drying her tears inadvertently with the rough leather. "I will never leave you." He whispered into the crown of her head, then kissing it ever so gently.

Jon Targaryen

It had physically hurt him to see how upset she had been, how she had honestly thought he wouldn't want her. "I do know nothing." He muttered, as he waded through papers sent from across the realm. He heard the soft padding of Ghost's paws before he heard Sansa, she was head to toe grey and her eyes shone like the wall on a summer day. "Can I help you milady?" He asked with a smirk. "I think you can my prince, I am here on most important business." She replied quickly, there was no catching her out he thought as he chuckled. "In all honesty I did want to speak with you." She stated, falling gently into the chair opposite him. "What about?" He asked unperturbed because of the smile on her face. "About us." She answered in a mocking, girlish tone. "U…s" Jon croaked out, looking at her as his heart thundered and his hands began to sweat. "Yes, us." Sansa replied, sitting straight in her seat now and leaning in towards him, her face was serious but her eyes were happy. "I could be wrong of course, about how you feel." She started, and Jon felt a shift, somewhere deep in his chest. "But I think you care deeply for me and I know I do for you." She stopped, looking the slightest bit uncertain so he nodded, wanting her to continue. "And I never want to be without you Jon, not ever again. You know, of my plans to reclaim the North and when I do Winterfell will be my home again… And I should very much like… If it was yours too?" The last sounded like a question so Jon nodded, he stood and walked around the desk, still nodding, taking her hands and raising her up so she stood before him. He was still nodding as his dry, chapped lips met her soft, warm ones.

Sansa Stark

The kiss made her head spin. Jon was kissing her, Jon's tongue was running over hers and Jon's hands were tight around her waist. She pulled back with a start and looked up at this man, this amazing man and she smiled. He smiled back before leaning down again and placing one final kiss on her cheek. He looked as flushed and happy as she felt and Sansa leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder and never wanting to let go. A knock at the door went through her like an electric shock and Sansa ripped herself away, smoothing her cloak and hair and sitting back down as Jon strode to the door, an annoyed look on his face. "My lord, wildlings spotted beyond the wall." A young crow stammered before racing for the armoury, Jon grabbed his long blade from beside the door and turned back to her, her heart burst in her chest as he pressed a kiss to her cold hand. "Be safe." She called but he was already away. Her night was spent tossing and turning, waiting for someone to tell her Jon was dead, or Jon himself to step through her door. She had kissed Jon! The thought seemed crazy now. Not only that she had kissed him, of all people, but that she had kissed anyone at all! She swore after Littlefinger no one would touch her again, no one would make her feel that way but when Jon kissed her all she felt was love and the feeling of coming home. Ghost licked her hands as the night went on and on, she finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming that she was a raven, flying above the wall, looking down on Jon and knowing he was alright.

Jon Targaryen

The Wildlings had come for sanctuary, all beyond the wall had heard of what the Crows were doing and they wanted in. It was too dangerous out there now, White Walkers were everywhere and every dead Wilding just meant another damned White Walker to deal with. The underground tunnels were opened and the whole night and most of the morning was spent sorting and processing the hundreds of free folk pouring into Westeros. Jon raked his hand wearily across his face, sleep would not be had for some time and he was already dead on his feet, same as all the other men around him. His mind kept skipping back to Sansa and that kiss, she could use her tongue, he thought, with a small grin and then remembered who would have taught her it and gripped the handle of his sword till his knuckles hurt. He hated Littlefinger, for taking Sansa's purity and her sense of self and hated the thought of his wicked lips kissing Sansa's pale flesh but he couldn't undo what had happened, only help her move on and show her he would never make her feel that way, dirty and used. He loved her, he thought as his heart gave a deep thud, not in the way a sibling loves a sibling or even the way a cousin loves a cousin but in the way that if he had to live without her ever again he was sure he would quickly die. Jon shifted, agitated, waiting to see her again.

**Lot of Jon/Sansa fluff in that one! Sorry But it had to be done. Had to set up how I wanted their relationship to be and all that stuff. Next chapter will have a lot more action! Troops are rallied and dragons come to Westeros (possibly). **


	4. Chapter 4

Daenerys Targaryen

She paced back and forth on the prow of her ship, watching as more and more boats poured into the small, fog-covered bay. "Ser Jorah, exactly how many boats do we have?" She queried for the hundredth time. "Enough, Khaleesi," He answered quietly, sick of inventorying their boats and soldiers for her. She sighed, all the crew were antsy and it had taken a week longer than they had hoped to reach Westeros, they were close to running out of food and all the sell-swords were freezing, un-used to this harsh winter. Tyrion had spent much of the journey below deck, only surfacing occasionally to tell her this was madness and then vomit up the wine he had been drinking. He appeared now, waddling towards her with a sour look on his face and a greenish tinge to his skin. "My queen, it is still not too late. My dear lady wife Sansa will play you for a fool if you continue on this quest, even Dragons can't stop winter. The North will not come, we will perish out in these dark, depressing forests with nought but wolves for company, my queen if you would just…" She silenced him with a raised hand. "Tyrion, you have been of great use to me, your knowledge of the Westerosi, your tactical thinking and your quick wit is all things that I would hate to go without. But I will if you question me or your dear lady wife one more time. Understood?" She growled, barely keeping her voice below a yell. His adam's apple bobbed nervously for a few moments before he bent down into a mocking bow and headed back for the cabin. She raked her hands through her hair, he was a close friend and perhaps he was right to be doubtful of the Northman's aid but Dany knew that Sansa understood if the North did not become their allies then the North would burn and she had no doubts that Sansa would do everything in her power to stop that occurring. Her hands shook slightly as she gripped the railing; even being queen of ashes was still being queen.

Sansa Stark

She saddled the horse before dawn, the cold slashed through her thick layers of clothing but Sansa did not shiver. Behind her the wall stood solemn, almost black in this light. She heard no one else as she slowly led the large horse out of the yard, Ghost padded silently in front of her, his breath the only evidence of him as he blended with the snow. She pulled her hair tight back and into a long braid, tucking it down her back and into the jacket and breeches she stole from Jon. They are loose on her and her curves disappeared beneath the many layers of fabric, she fancied she looked rather like a boy and nothing like a highborn lady. She strained to hear any signs of movement as she slipped through the gates; the men on duty were fast asleep, still sleeping off the strong draft she had given them at the changing of watch. She wished she could have told Jon, even brought him with her but his place is here and she will return… one day. She dragged herself onto the tall mare, riding as a man would for the first time in her life, she could already tell how her legs would ache by the time she reached her men but she didn't falter and she didn't look back.

Jon Targaryen

"Sansa!" He screamed, his voice already going hoarse. Sam had woken him when he had gone to give Sansa her breakfast and found both her and Ghost gone, the bed cold. "Sansa, please!" He called again as he urged his horse through the thick snow, he looked around frantically, trying to spot a flash of her red hair or a print left by Ghost, where is she? "Lord Commander!" A Wildling called, beckoning him over, pointing at a hoof print indented in the snow. He clenched his fists by his side, staring at the only evidence she was ever there. "Another over here!" Calls another Wildling, he glanced up, maybe they can track whoever has taken her, maybe he can find her again. He spurred his horse, pushing through the ever-thickening snow as fast as possible, he knew the tracks would soon disappear and he had to find her, he must. "Sansa!" He yelled, hearing it echo through the forest.

Sansa Stark

The days were blisteringly cold and the nights were worse, she cuddled up to Ghost, the two of them sharing what little heat they had. It had taken her three days to cover very little ground. The day before she swore she heard her name being called, like a sigh on the wind, she had pushed her horse harder, determined to outrun the voices, outrun Jon. The days are always dark; her horse stumbled blindly in the eternal twilight, so Sansa reined her in, following Ghost into a small river bed where they could rest. She slid wearily from the mare and watched intently as Ghost's ears prick, and he snarled, staring at something in the distance she couldn't see but could just hear, men's voices gruff and angry and many and then the smells of smoke. Her body ached at the thought of the warmth but she did not want to be anywhere near strange men. They will have to move on, despite how exhausted her and her animals were. She skirted the edge of the camp, there are even more men than she had thought, hundreds possibly, though it was hard to tell when they were spread through the trees. When she spotted the Direwolf sigil flying from one of the tents her heart almost stopped. These are my men, she realised, leading her horse down the small bank until she is level with the camp, a scout spotted her instantly and pulled his sword from its scabbard. "Halt, who goes there?" He yelled his voice malicious but young, he is only my age, she thought sadly before calling back "I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark, your queen, the queen in the North!" She drew herself up to her full height and swiped the cloak from her head, revealing her bright red tresses. "Y…your grace." The man stammered, dropping onto one knee but still staring at her, slack-jawed. "Take me to the Bolton." She said, as he rose and took the reins of her horse, she buried her hand into Ghost's thick fur, it has begun.

**Sorry it has taken so long for an update! And ever sorrier for how short (and kind of crappy) this chapter is! Next one will be up by the end of this week or early next week, will finally be getting to the real action, thanks for your patience.**


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